


The Feast of St Valentinus

by OneforAll



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-18 20:17:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13689048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneforAll/pseuds/OneforAll
Summary: This is a continuation of my alternative universe as previously written about in Hay Moon, Eclipse and Shadow Fall.  This is set about six months from the end of Shadowfall, which i have yet to complete properly, but deals with the fall and death of Rochefort.  It diverges from canons in that the last two episodes of s2 did not happen in the way aired. Marguerite came to Aramis for help and the musketeers were alerted and able to stop Rochefort before he made the accusation about Aramis fathering the Dauphin.  Life got in the way of me finishing it but I promise I will.I just wanted to write a valentine story for my two favourite boys.  And here is the first chapter.  it must be still be Valentine's day somewhere in the world...





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait between chapters. But I did manage at least to get it posted before Valentine's day.

<> THE FEAST OF ST VALENTINUS

CHAPTER 1

For the third time in the last quarter of an hour, Aramis found himself nudging aside the curtains to peer out of the window of the lodgings he shared with Athos. There was a hint of movement under the archway that led to the courtyard below and his heartbeat quickened for a moment, until he realised it was a couple of drinkers leaving the Fox tavern. He saw the departing men turn up their collars against the cold and wrap their cloaks more tightly around them before clapping each other on the shoulder and vanishing into the street outside.

Just a hint of the goodnatured revelry floated up from the inn opposite. It was a small, pleasant hostelry, where he and Athos tended to have dinner and drinks a couple of nights a week, sometimes joined by Porthos and D'Artagnan, and occasionally by their former Captain, Treville. His eyes scanned the low bushs and grassy area beside the inn. He could see that the wind had picked up considerably since his own return home about an hour ago. A chink of light was thrown out as he pushed back the curtains a little further. A few light flakes of snow danced like ghostly fireflies in its beam; too fine to offer more than a dusting of snow as yet but from the wind was rising, it looked as though it would turn into a full-out blizzard sooner rather than later. 

Aramis fervently hoped that Athos would make it home before it got any worse. Just wanted Athos to be home, period.

Particularly tonight. The feast of St Valentinus. Their first together as lovers. Aramis sighed and he let the curtain drop back into place. Looking out or sending mental wishs to his Capain and Inamorato would not get him back here any quicker.. That would depend on the summit which Athos had been called to late this afternoon. A meeting to discuss recent developments in the dispute over the Mantuan succession, with Treville and other relevant members of the council. It wasn't particularly unexpected. Of late there'd been several such assemblies as the situation grew more volatile. The ripple effects were spreading across the arena of European politics, threatening France's position.

Athos had said that if he hadn't returned to the garrison within a quarter of an hour of the duty shift ending, Aramis should make his way home; he'd join him there as soon as he could get away. The marksman knew that if he was to be delayed much longer he'd have sent a message by now. So he should be home shortly.

They hadn't discussed tonight in any great detail; mentioning it a few days ago and deciding they'd just ordwe in a meal from the Fox, as they did quite frequently. Athos had been quite low-key about the whole business, but Aramis had caught one or two little sideways glances with the hint of a private smile that the marksman had come to know very well these past few months. It usually heralded some treat or surprise. Aramis had one or two of his own planned.

Tbis morning as they sat over breakfast, Athos had adopted his scholary, somewhat cynical man of reason pose.

"You do realise, of course, that the entire business is a construct of the Catholic church, to expel the Roman fertility festival of Lupercalia?"

"Of course--as the Church did with many of the old pagan celebrations. Stlll, it's equally likely that there was a bishop of Terni who helped young couples in love by marrying them, and died for defying the Emperor," Aramis had countered as he picked up a bread roll.

"There are several other candidates for the position, And isn't the original one also supposed to be the patron saint of bee-keepers and victims of the Falling Sicknes?" Athos continued as he reached for butter to spread on his own roll: expression deadpan but with the hint of a teasing twinke in his eyes. "Not exactly romantic, is it? "

"They deserve a patron saint as much as anyone else," Aramis replied as he glanced over at Athos. "Anyway,my darling cynic, I don't care! Having a day to celebrate love and romance is a wonderful idea. And what better time than February, when everyone is at their lowest ebb?"

"Just like the Romans, to use the start of birds mating..." Athos gestured out of the window at the two pigeons who often sat together on the nearby roof of their landlady's haberdashery business. This morning the birds were hunkered down against the cold, taking no interest in each other or anything around them. "Allegedly."

"Well, they are male," Aramis replied.

Athos was still trying to maintain his deadpan act but the corners of his mouth were lifting in a suspicious manner.  
"That has never seemed to be a barrier--"  
"Philistine!" Aramis declared, chuckling and tossed his bread roll at Athos, who, with his swordsman's reflexs, fielded it easily, and lobbed it back towards his lover. Aramis also caught it one-handed. Then he rose out of his seat to meet Athos, who was leaning towards him.

Their mouths met in a light but warm kiss that neither wanted to end. "Fear not, mon cher," Athos had assured him as they reluctantly eased apart. "We will celebrate your saint, spurious or not, in the proper manner tonight."

Aramis let himself slip into reverie as he remembered the feel of Athos's tongue curling around his, at first teasingly, then hungrily. A little throb began to pulse in Aramis's groin and butterflies began a crazy dance in the pit of his stomach.

Nearly seven months had passed since he and Athos had become lovers, and still, desire ignited so easily when he was with, or thinking about, Athos. There were still moments when he could barely believe it had happened at all. This had been the greatest and most secretive love of all, that he had thought would never be realised. He had trained himself to keep it buried; just glad and grateful to be the trusted friend and brother of this private, brilliant and troubled man. it had felt as though Athos would never throw off the shadow of Milady and allow himself to love again in a romantic sense. That if he did, it would be with another woman: someone like Ninon Laroque, perhaps,

Where as Aramis himself had drifted from one love affair to another, sometimes thinking he could find something real, like with Adele, who was a friend as well as a lover. In the aftermath of seeing his first real love die, it had culminated with his union with Anne. It had felt so right that night. They weren't Queen and Musketeer: just a man and a woman answering a need in each other. Then all the repercussion that had flowed from that. A son, conceived in the most impossible of circumstances; a son he could rarely get near to, let alone call his own. The near-disastrous affair with Marguerite, so that occasionally he could be closer to the child, like crumbs to a starving man..

Until the day he formed part of an escort to the royal family on an outing to see a solar eclipse. A fateful day for him; he had come within an hair's breath of death. A fateful day for Athos too, when for the first time he had deserted his duty, unable to stomach the sight of his former wife paraded as the King mistress as though she was part of the Royal family. Something had broken in Athos that day. He had bitterly regretted not being there to help his brothers, and decided once and for all he was not going to allow Milady to throw a shadow over his life any more. With his new determination he had tentatively reached out with a kiss to the injured Aramis, who he was caring for and believed to be in a drugged slumber.

The world had changed that morning, and woud never be the same for either of them ever again.

He glanced around the room once more to make sure everything was in place. He hadn't been too disappointed when he couldn't come home with Athos. It had given him some time to get rid of boots and a shirt soiled by a day of arduous drilling with new recruits, have a wash and change into a fresh shirt. He had built up the fire, getting the room nicely warmed. The stew ordered from the Fox was simmering on the stove; the table set, and fresh bread brought by their landlady today, along with a cheese from Picardy that Athos favoured, all laid out ready. He had the lighting low and strategic, a couple of lamps in the corners of the room', candlesticks on the table, their light reflecting onto wine glasses and the bottle of claret which should now be just at a pleasant room temperature...

Once more he fought the urge to look out of the window, All that he needed now was Athos.  
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	2. Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its taken almost till the next Valentine's Day to get this chapter done but I am on course now so hopefully the next segment should be along more quickly.

Somewhat reluctantly Aramis pulled himself away from the window. He sat down at the table and poured two glasses of wine. It splashed into the glasses, dark as heart’s blood. An experimental sip told him that the claret had been worth the extra expense. An extremely fine wine for what he hoped would be a very special occasion.  
These days, although Athos might take the odd glass or two if the burden of his new command grew a little heavy, in general he drank more moderately; for pleasure and not as an anodyne. Quality as opposed to quantity was starting to matter once more.  
His eyes also fell on the few single red roses he’d placed around the place settings. Little finishing touchs which he hope d his lover would appreciate. There were also gifts, carefully selected and crafted, which he hoped Athos would approve of. He heard his stomach gurgle and smiled. Cold weather always sharpened hunger. He wanted to wait and share the meal with Athos and it was hardly a prelude to a romantic evening, even if the worst Athos would do was tease him about his copious appetites. He contented himself with cutting off and nibbling on a small piece of Mariolles cheese. He had grown to enjoy the mild creamy flavour of the Picardy cheese over recent months. As he finished it off he found himself grinning again. After a particularly energetic coupling about a week ago he had called Athos “Picardy’s best export.” His smile widened as he recalled how his lover had laughed so hard it felt like the bedframe would break…This time last year who could have predicted such a thing? It would have seemed like an unattainable fantasy.  
It was amazing how their lives had altered in so short a time. A year ago, the court had been dealing with the sudden demise of the Cardinal. Athos had been learning to live outside the shadow of Milady-- all too short a respite—and Aramis learning of Adele’s fate. Now they were a committed couple and Athos was Captain of the Musketeers.  
Treville’s choice of successor was of no surprise to the Inseparables or the rest of the regiment. They had known for a long time that there was only one real candidate for the post. The shock had been in the timing. Treville was in his prime and expected to stay in his post for several more years. But the sudden decline in Richlieu’s health and subsequent death had changed the game. The King had not taken well to the Capain’s refusal of the vacant First Minister post and in a classic fit of Bourbon pique that left both court and army reeling, had dismissed the most honourable and able man in his service from his post and reduced his rank.  
Rochefort had been there at the right place and time to fill the void in the King’s trust and taken advantage of every chance to show the Musketeers in a bad light, while bathing himself in glory. It had taken the discovery of the nobleman’s true nature and mission before an opportunity presented itself to put things right.  
After Athos and Milady broke into the First Minister’s office during his absence, discovering the draft of a letter to his Spanish spymaster, Athos had made sure Treville played a prominent part in revealing the truth to the King. Aramis would never forget standing outside the King’s apartment with Athos when they heard the incoherent cry of royal rage; they knew Louis was reading the part of the document that said his former mistress was a spy and assassin by trade, then the line where Rochefort referred to him as “that spoilt Bourbon brat.” It had not been long before they were marching towards the traitor’s offices in a Musketeer detail complete with an arrest warrant.  
But nothing could have prepared them or anyone else for the sight that greeted them. Rochefort, had last been seen by his guards arriving from that’s evening’s diplomatic reception to do an hour or so’s work; then by his manservant, who’d earlier delivered a tray with a light supper and wine. They found the First Minister slumped across his desk, his throat cut: blood dripping to pool with an overturned goblet of red wine on the floor. Athos was able to guess almost immediately what had happened. Milady had earlier eyed a cache of jewels and gold in the secret compartment behind the bookcase. While they’d been in there she had mentioned an outer door. Athos realised she must have found the key and pocketed it while he was searching elsewhere. A brief search of the hidden space showed that the treasure trove was gone.  
Having been thwarted by her unsuccessful attempt to seduce her former husband, they conjectured that she had returned and that her arrival must have coincided with that of Rochefort’s man with the supper tray. Milady, the ultimate opportunist, had seized her chance. It would only have taken a few moments after the servant’s departure to slip out and drug the wine. When Rochefort returned and took a drink it wouldn’t have taken long for the sedative to take effect. The drowsy First Minister wouldn’t have even been aware of a presence behind him as Milady took the ultimate revenge….Two wily, ruthless and immoral people who’d enviegled themselves into royal favour—yet it was the woman from the criminal backstreets who had bested the clever aristocrat.  
Aramis remembered how he and Athos had looked at each other. A gruesome end for a man who could have destroyed their lives, and those of many others including the Queen.  
In the days that followed and the extent of Rochefort’s treachery became apparent, the King had been all for declaring immediate war on Spain. It had taken all the efforts of the Council, including those of Treville, newly appointed as Defence Minister, to hold back and pursue other diplomatic avenues of protest. Treville had of course recommended Athos be appointed to command the Musketeers, and after everything that he owed to their Captain, Athos didn’t feel he could refuse. In the months that came after the Inseparables had grown even closer as Aramis and his brothers strove to give Athos all the help they could in his new role. Their years honing their teamwork had stood them in good stead. He, Porthos and D’Artagnan privately called themselves C.A.S.T.: the Captain Athos Support Team. More attention fell on Athos and as his closest aides, they were also conscious of also being under more scrutiny. Although they had always taken their soldiering seriously, they had also carried themselves with a certain devil-may-care swagger, which D’Artagnan had soon come to emulate. As Porthos sometimes said in jest: “Time for us to be real grown-ups now.”  
In a way, the role was one that Athos had been born to play. The calm persona he’d developed as both aristocrat and musketeer stood him in good stead. He had kudos both as a nobleman at court and with the army as a time-served officer who’d earned his promotions by merit, not privilege. He carried the mantle of command well but it was those closest to him, particularly Aramis as his lover, who saw the toll it took on him: when he grew frustrated in his dealings with King and Council, or lost a man to death or injury.  
Aramis was glad Athos had decided to stay on in their rooms. He had emulated Treville in his later years of command by living outside the garrison, only staying over in the Captain’s quarters occasionally if a situation demanded it. Athos could easily be summoned by messenger if needed. The short distance to their quarters offered both a respite from duty and a chance to continue with their private lives. He looked around the familiar walls, at the odd personal touch of two they’d added, like pictures and small pieces of furniture. Athos could easily have opted for something grander, but it suited them well. They’d begun their era as lovers here and it was a haven where they could create their own world. Aramis shivered slightly when he thought how things might have been if the Rochefort affair had played in a different way. And of the ultimate irony that Milady, Athos’s nemesis, had, by a strange twist of fate, become Aramis’s saviour and allowed them both the freedom to continue being together.  
He found his mind drifting to the others involved in the Rochefort drama and what they were doing on this Valentine’s eve. Both his brothers had plans. D’Artagnan would be having dinner with Constance; the couple were now officially betrothed and hoped to marry by the summer. Porthos would be seeing Annette, an attractive and feisty tavern maid of mixed blood he’d been paying court to for the last couple of months. It was hard to tell how serious it was at this stage, but they both seemed to be enjoying themselves. Porthos was certainly in good spirits as they parted at the garrison with his trademark grin and a cheekly wink urging therm to “Celebrate l’amour!”  
Aramis also thought of the King and Queen. Since the Rochefort business Louis had been a little kinder and more attentive to Anne, but his focus could be somewhat erratic, caught up as he was in the business with Spain. He had made a gift of a magnificent pearl and diamond necklace but the word via D’Artagnan who had seen Constance earlier while on an errand at the palace, was that it had not been delivered in person, and judging by how long the council meeting that had delayed Athos was going on, the odds of his Majesty dining privately with his wife tonight were diminishing  
Aramis had also heard tell of how Constance and Lady Francoise, who was acting as nursemaid after Marguerite’s recent marriage, had coached the Dauphin to bring the Queen a small gift of flowers and sweetmeats. The Queen had been charmed and delighted; it was obvious the boy gave her much joy and solace.  
Aramis couldn’t deny that he didn’t on occasion feel a pang of yearning when close near enough to the royal family to catch sight of the boy, but these days when in proximity he was very careful to behave circumspectly, showing nothing more than the deference of a musketeer doing his duty. To do otherwise was to endanger not only his own welfare but that of the Queen and the child; even the stability of the country. It was clear that the Dauphin was thriving and that both their Majesties doted on him.  
Occasionally when he was near the Queen, Aramis had seen her steal an odd wistful glance when she thought herself unobserved. He felt much compassion for her situation. She was beautiful, kind, honest and much stronger than she gave herself credit for, and he would always revere her above all other women. The time they shared in the monastery had been akin to being trapped in a bubble, outside of the real world. The emotions had been real but never meant to survive in the cold light of day. In hindsight, Aramis could admit that he’d clung to the dream so long because the hopelessness of the situation appealed to the romantic in him. Aramis had thought he knew all about love. But since his world became Athos-centric, he was constantly having to redefine the definition…  
Whatever the rights and wrongs of the situation with Anne, Aramis had the consolation of knowing how much joy the Dauphin had brought into he life. Athos and his brothers were of the opinion that she must have slept with Louis very soon after returning from the monastery and that there was an equal chance that the King was the father. Regardless of what the truth was, Aramis had no control of the situation and had had to make his peace with the fact. The secret had to stay buried for the sake of all involved.  
He also considered the King, It was hard not to feel some sympathy for Louis, who’d lost his father at a young age and had been betrayed by half his family, including his own mother. The marriage he and Anne had been engaged in was not of their choice and they had been very young. During their night together the Queen had told him a little of how hard she’d tried to make their union work and it was a mystery to Aramis that the King could not seem to appreciate what a treasure he possessed.  
Louis could behave regally and honourably, putting the interests of his people first, but he could also by turns be capricious and petulant as a child which could be frustrating for those dealing with him—as Athos in his role as Captain, with more direct contact, was finding out. Fortunately Treville was now on the Council, his opinion increasingly sought and advice accepted, and it was widely thought and hoped that in time, he would be appointed as First Minister.  
Aramis's thoughts turned to Marguerite, and what she had suffered at Rochefort’s hands. Few people had been more glad to learn of the First Minister’s demise. The last time Aramis had spoken to her was just prior to leaving Court to prepare for her forthcoming marriage. It appeared that she was happy with the arrangement. As well as becoming allied to ancient noble family with very high standing, which had pleased her father, she genuinely liked her prospective bridegroom. Her fiancé was a kind and amiable man, a little older than her but not some elderly baron as she first feared she might have foisted upon her. Constance had given him to understand that the Queen had something to do with the nuptial negotiations being opened…  
He and Marguerite had parted at peace with each other. He was glad that she had a hopeful future in front of her.  
His mind came back to the present. He looked over the table again: everything was perfect. Exactly as he’d planned but for one thing. His eyes travelled to the far side of the room, to the package that had arrived at the garrison during Athos’s absence at the palace. It had been delivered to the gate by a courier from one of the coaching companies who could only tell the sentry who had accepted it that it had been sent from the Marseilles area. It was a small oblong box, wrapped in oilcloth. Once Athos’s return from the palace was delayed Aramis decided to bring the package home with him. He had perused the address label at length. Long experience told him that the writer was probably a woman. A prickle had run down his spine as he read it. His immediate thought had been that it might be from Milady. As he’d never seen a sample of her handwriting, he was unable to tell if this was so. Yet, rather oddly, it was addressed to “Athos of the King’s Musketeers” rather than to Captain Athos. Aramis would have expected that wherever she was, Milady would always have the most up-to-date intelligence….  
His brows furrowed. He fervently wished that it wasn’t from the former Comtesse De La Fere, who their group had privately nicknamed “the She-Devil”. Aramis sighed. Tonight was supposed to be about him and Athos as a couple and he hoped the package was not from Milady. He suspected that even in absentia, she still had the power to unsettle or upset Athos. If such was the case, it just meant that he just needed to work a bit harder to make his partner feel relaxed and happy: not exactly a hardship. Partner…he savoured the word, turning it over in his mind the way a wine connoisseur swirls a good vintage round the glass before tasting it.  
Looking back over his romantic life, Athos realised that Athos was the first person to whom he could properly attribute this title. A restlessness had shadowed his soul ever since losing Isobel. He had sometimes felt short periods of contentment, believing he had found the right thing or the right person, but it didn’t last. The semi-nomadic nature of a Musketeer’s life tended to make for more transient relationships. And looking back now he could acknowledge that the feelings that had dogged him since the Savoy massascre had made him keener, sometimes recklessly, to grab what life offered, while another part of him felt an underlying sense of shame: the guilt of the survivor, who wondered why, of all his brother soldiers, he was alive and they were not…  
So, all things considered, this relationship with Athos was now approaching the longest of his life. He found himself grinning in a boyish, self-conscious way. Here he was in his early thirties, deeply and hopelessly in love with the man who’d been one of his best friends for over six years. It was a strange juxtaposition. They knew each other well on so many levels; could anticipate each other as soldiers as though in one skin yet as lovers, they were still in a process of learning and growth. The long-denied passion that had been there from the start had deepened and strenghtened over time. Athos had begun to reveal more of his inner self, like peeling off layers of an onion, and Aramis had found himself drawn and fascinated as never before, also more vulnerable. Sometimes he had nightmares, and awoke sweating and shivering, if Athos had gone into some potentially dangerous situation where Aramis couldn’t be with him….Or woke with scenarios of his own situation with the Queen in his head: that the Rochefort debacle had turned out differently. That he, Athos and his other brothers had been arrested and broken on the wheel in the Chatelet…or a different, bizarre interpretation where they’d all survived but that his guilt at everything he’d brought down on those he loved had driven him to resign his commission and retreat to a monastery. He had surfaced from that one a couple of times, shaking and disorientated. But after a few deep breaths he’d opened his eyes to the reality that Athos was beside him, asleep, and as though sensing his need, Athos’s body had rolled towards his, an arm reaching out to enfold him….So now, half a year on , he felt the soul-deep profundity of his attachment to Athos, mixed with an almost teenage level of excitement over tonight and the romance of St Valentinus’ Eve: to show Athos the extent of his love.  
Some instinct made him start and move towards the window, pushing back the curtain. There—at last! At the entrance to the square, where previously there had been strangers, a familiar silhouette stood. Athos. Hooded, in the warm fur-lined cape that had been one of his gifts at Noelle. The gaze of the new arrival immediately turned upwards. Aramis knew that beneath the cloak he was clad in the new uniform he’d commissioned on receiving his captaincy: black leather, close fitting. Aramis’s cock twitched at the mere notion of how good his lover looked in it and he also registered the thought of the dark, thick hair, allowed to grow just a little longer these past few months. Again, his cock jumped: a small but undeniable pressure. Across the courtyard Athos raised a hand in greeting and Aramis responded, his heart hammering loudly against his chest. Half embarrassed, half joyful, Aramis admitted to himself that he was a hopeless case. The joy won out and he found himself heading towards the door, opening it and racing down the stairs, his heart on overdrive…  
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The moment Athos had entered the square he felt more content. The night was cold and the blizzard had strengthened since he left the garrison, where he had called after getting away from the Louvre. He saw the chink of light from the first floor window and found himself smiling as, almost on cue, the chink widened and there was Aramis, looking out for him. How did he manage that, Athos mused with one part of his mind, while another registered the fine fall of snow around him but he was mainly focused on the window. The weariness from the long day he’d spent with the King and Council seemed to melt away as he walked towards the outer door which suddenly opened and there was Aramis, clad only in shirt and breeches, hurtling towards him. Athos stepped quickly through the door where a welcome embrace greeted him. A familiar warm mouth closed over his, and Aramis’s tongue wrapped round his own in unrestrained, passionate greeting then the words: ‘Welcome home, my love…”  
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	3. Chapter 3

“And I’m very glad to be back—and to such a welcome!” Athos said smilingly. He reached over and brushed the back of the other’s cheek with his gloved hand. Aramis shivered slightly, both from the tenderness of the gesture and the cool feel of the leather on his skin.  
“Ooh, that’s chilly. We need to get you upstairs and warmed up. It looks bad out there.”  
"It is. It'll be lying by morning." Aramis started up the stairs, Athos’s hand in his, when he found himself hauled back into a tight embrace and another fervent kiss that left him in no doubt of his lover’s pleasure to be home.  
“Such an enthusiastic welcome deserves reciprocation,” Athos said in his dry drawl.  
Aramis loved the teasing timbre in the other’s voice. He reacted to it on a subliminal level: it made his blood sing and his groin twitch. “You’re already warming up nicely!” he murmured into Athos’s ear, then nipped the earlobe playfully.  
“It’s the company,” the other said in the same, low drawl, and hand in hand, they mounted the stairs. Once in the upper room, Athos removed his cloak and set down the satchel he’d been carrying. Aramis stood in front of him and unbuckled his lover’s weapons belt. It had become something of a ritual with them: to relieve each other of the items which spoke of their identity as soldiers. Normally they did it together but tonight it was Athos alone who let out a perceptible sigh as the weight of the sword and musket left his hips. “Sorry I’m so damned late. We spent a long time going round and round in circles...”  
“You did think it would be problematical….” Aramis already knew of the council factions that favoured military action: men more concerned with power-brokering than in the interests of their country. In summits such as the one Athos had just left, they often made life difficult for Treville and his allies. It was therefore no great surprise to the marksman to see Athos moving his head from side to side and flexing his upper body in an attempt to ease tension built up in neck and shoulder during this long, frustrating day.  
“Like a neck rub?”  
Athos let out a grateful sigh. “Yes, please, that would be very welcome.” He sat down on a nearby chair, shrugging off his doublet and draping it over the back. Aramis went to collect a small phial filled with his own blend of aromatic oils, kept in a nearby drawer for such occasions. There was a time not so long ago that Athos would have stoically put up with such discomfort. It said a lot about how their levels of trust had increased.  
Having poured a few drops onto his palms and warmed his hands before placing his fingertips on Athos’s neck and started to massage it. Athos emitted a little grunt of satisfaction.  
Aramis could immediately feel the build-up of tension in his partner’s muscles. “Not a great day, I gather.”  
“Not the best,” Athos said with irony. “Treville told me at the briefing that the King is considering Feron for the post of governor of Paris.”  
Aramis frowned. The current governor was having to resign due to ill-health. The thought of the King’s corrupt, illegitimate half brother in the post was enough to send ripples of anxiety through the governing and military establishment.  
“The only people who would treat that as good news are Feron and his cronies…” He could feel Athos’s muscles tauten under his fingertips “Now, don’t go tensing up on me again, just as I’m getting you unknotted,” he admonished. He deliberately kept his tone light and humorous as he bent his head to place a soft kiss on the back of his lover’s neck.  
“And you’re doing a very good job of it,” Athos said after luxuriating for a moment in the pressure of the fingers skimming over his skin: still gentle but growing just a little firmer. A small shiver ran through him, but it was of pleasure at the featherlight touch of the kiss. In earlier days Athos had always found a certain guilty pleasure in having Aramis’s hands on him when tending him as the unit’s medic. It had taken some of the sting out of whatever injury or ailment was being addressed. Now it was a lover’s touch—no more guilt or secrets—and Athos revelled in it, daily counted his blessings.  
“Bretagne has intelligence to suggest Feron may be using narcotics to ease his various ailments and remain functional: the type that can become strongly addictive.”  
“Which makes him an even more unsuitable choice than his dubious character,” Aramis observed, applying his tender yet strong motions to the space between his companion’s shoulder blades.  
“All, however, is not yet lost. Treville has a private audience with the King tomorrow in which he hopes to introduce more suitable candidates and steer his Majesty away from the wrong choice. He does seem to have Louis’s ear more and more these days.”  
“Which is all to the good,” Aramis had a smile in his voice as he felt Athos’s muscles begin to relax. “The last time we saw him for dinner, he seemed—well, a little more careworn, and who can blame him? But more confident when talking about life at court.”  
“Yes, I do think so,” Athos averred. “We know how sharp a strategist he is. Its just taken a little time to get into his stride. If only the King hadn’t been so hasty, expecting him jump into the Cardinal’s shoes with no government experience and Richlieu barely in his grave. We’d have been spared the rise of Rochefort and all that entailed.”  
Aramis grinned wryly as he made soothing circular motions on his partner’s upper back. “I shall never forget the sight —you had been abducted by the Pinon villagers—of him mucking out the stables! I’m glad for him that it all came right. I know there are others who will try to get in his way but it must be easier to gain the King’s attention now he no longer has the Cardinal to obstruct him at every turn.”  
“Rather like having a having a colossus removed from a highway on which you are a frequent traveler,” Athos observed drolly.  
The mental image this produced made Aramis laugh out loud. “So what does that make Rochefort? An avalanche that makes the road impassable but melts once introduced to heat?”  
“A good analogy,” his lover said. “The Cardinal was always the more formidable opponent. Rochefort had some style but no real substance to sustain it. And…oh Aramis…” The words spilled out of Athos in a velvety drawl, like slowly-poured honey.  
The marksman laughed softly. His fingertips were already telling him that the massage and a bit of verbal interplay were having the desired effect and that there was an overspill. “Oh Aramis, what?” His voice was a whisper, sweet and sensual. The question was redundant but it was all part of the game; the stairway leading to passion.  
“You do that so well,” Athos acknowledged in a tone that sounded as though he were in a slightly altered state, suspended somewhere between lust and reality.  
“It’s a pleasure,” Aramis murmured as he bent his head lower, pushing Athos’s hair aside and kissing the spot below his ear. “Call it payback. After all, I’ve given you enough headaches in my time.”  
There was a snort in Athos’s throat, almost a bark. Aramis felt the body under his hands shake with amusement. ”I suspect the honours on that score are even.” Athos managed, not without some reluctance, to tear himself away from the sensual touch. He maneuvered the chair until he was facing Aramis and took the other’s hands in both of his own. He lifted one hand towards his lips, kissing the knuckles. His eyes became slitted, emerald gaze gleaming and teasing. “As I’ve said before,” he murmured: like an aristocratic glove: velvet encasing steel, “If you were ever in need of an occupation other than Musketeer, you could make a living with these hands…” He lifted the other hand to his mouth; the pressure of his lips prolonged and subtle, the hint of a tongue moving over the other’s skin.  
And Aramis happily let himself be drawn into blissful green happiness: a willing and cognisant participant in the game. “Well, that’s fine in theory. But I’m not so sure I want to lay my hands on anyone else’s body on a regular basis….so my client base would be quite small….” He leaned forward into the kiss those eyes had instigated. The barest touch of lips and tongues—provocative and full of promise…”Well, basically—you!”  
“That would suit me admirably,” Athos replied, the corner of his mouth lifting, “On reconsideration, I’m not sure I want you laying your hands on anyone else either.” He let go of Aramis’s hands, only to move his own down to his lover’s waist and pull the other nearer to him until Aramis was astride him with legs apart, maneuvering himself closer.  
Athos was leaning in, his lips and tongue working down the line of Aramis’s throat. “However, you do have other marketable skills, such as your medical knowledge.”  
“True,” Aramis’s head fell back as he stretched, baring more of his throat and chest to the other’s ministrations. “And I do get satisfaction from treating my brothers successfully, And that is on a need-to basis. But it is draining emotionally. To do it full-time…I’m not sure I could ever have the professional detachment a healer needs.” Athos’s tongue was flickering over his earlobe and it sent a fine shiver of pleasure surging through his body.  
Athos’s reply was intermittent as he kissed his way down the side of his lover’s neck. “Yes…I can…see your point, But you also have….your linguistic talents…”  
“What—be an interpreter?” The marksman gave a ripe chuckle. “Can you imagine me, repeating other people’s words all day—and none of my own?”  
Athos emitted an involuntary grunt of amusement. The idea of his loquacious lover spouting other people’s verbiage without being able to interject comments and opinions was rather comical. “Well, perhaps not,” he drawled, then found his face cupped in Aramis’s hands. The dark eyes smiled into his.  
“Whether I’m a musketeer or something else, I know my true one vocation is to be your partner—the best I can possibly be.”  
Athos felt his limbs turn to jelly and his heart turn over. “Hold that thought,” he murmured.  
They leaned together, their arms going around the back of each other’s necks, into a series of teasing little kisses that grew more passionate and intense at each contact. Seated as they were, they could feel the twinges of desire pulsing in each other’s groins. Pausing for breath, they became aware of a low gurgling sound: coming from Athos’s stomach.  
“Sorry…” Athos’s lips twisted with embarrassed amusement. “The summons to the palace meant I had to miss lunch."  
“And I bet whatever refreshments you were offered were of the style and no substance kind!” Aramis had stood on the sidelines at enough such occasions at the palace to be familiar with the cuisine on offer. “It would have been worse if you’d done it at the palace! Come on, let’s get you fed. It’s all ready.” He climbed to his feet, holding a hand out to his lover, who he also helped to rise. They made their way over to the dining table.  
Athos’s eyes moved over the attractively laid out place settings; to the candlelight reflecting on the dark ruby of the wine in the goblets, then the deep red of the flower laying next to his plate. He picked it up. It was as fresh as if it had been picked in summer and its heady perfume evoked blowsy warm days and blue skies. It was a small token yet it touched him profoundly. In his marriage it was he who had tended to be the instigator of romantic treats and gifts. It was so long since he’d been the recipient. There was an artless tenderness in the gesture that that was just so….Aramis. He raised a quizzical eyebrow.  
“Roses? How did you manage to get roses in Paris in the middle of February?”  
“I have my sources…” Aramis gave a wolfish and enigmatic smile which made him look more handsome than ever but after a moment his expression lost some of its confidence. “It isn’t…too much of a cliché, is it?” He’d been hoping that Athos wouldn’t think the gesture was unmanly or done as some sort of a joke.  
Athos saw the flash of uncertainty and it made his heart even more full. He reached across the table for his companion’s hand and squeezed it.  
“It’s traditional—and perfect.”  
Aramis relaxed perceptibly and returned the pressure. Athos made to start for where their supper was simmering, but Aramis said, “Sit down and relax. I’ll serve.”  
Athos did as he was bidden. Much more relaxed now after the massage, he savoured the greater warmth provided by the proximity of the range. His eyes strayed to the bottle of wine across the table. There was something familiar about the label but he knew it wasn’t one of their usual midweek vintages. Curious, he picked up the goblet set next to his plate and breathed in its aroma. One sip confirmed the identification.  
“A claret?” he murmured, looking over at Aramis, who was plating up the stew. “You’re spoiling me tonight!”  
Aramis glanced back at him. “Au contraire—I’m spoiling us,” he drawled smilingly before returning to his task.  
Athos took another experimental sip, savouring the quality of the wine. They had treated themselves to a claret at Noelle but this was a very fine vintage indeed. He set the goblet down again, determined to share the enjoyment with Aramis, as had been intended. As he sat back waiting for his lover something crossed his mind.  
“I meant to say—I had to call at the Garrison on my way back. They told me a package had been delivered for me and that you’d brought it home.” So familiar was he with reading the other’s body language that he immediately detected the slight tension in Aramis’s shoulders.  
“Yes….” Aramis took a moment before he turned round with the two plates in his hands. “It’s on the chest. It arrived when you were away at the palace. There’s no sender’s name or address. All we know was that it was carried by one of the Marseilles coaches. Were you expecting anything?”  
Athos shook his head. Aramis walked over to the table and laid the plates down.  
“It’s in a woman’s hand. At least I think it’s a woman’s hand.” Aramis’s voice had conveyed a touch of disquiet and Athos immediately understood why. He also experienced an involuntary shiver of apprehension. What other woman was likely to be sending something to him in an anonymous manner?  
“And you’re wondering--?”  
“If it might be Milady? It's hard not to speculate.”  
Athos’s eyes travelled to the oblong shape across the room. If this was a sign of his wife resurfacing it could mean trouble, just as they were getting some kind of order into their lives…  
Aramis took a step towards the package. “Do you want to open it?”  
Athos looked into his friend’s dark eyes: a loving, concerned gaze met with his own. He also took in the table: the fine wine, the roses, his favourite cheese. All prepared with care and attention “No,” he said firmly. “The damn thing has waited this long; it can wait a little longer.” He ran a finger round the rim of his goblet. "We have our dinner and this very fine wine. I say we enjoy them before we consider it.”  
He looked over expectantly at Aramis with a soft smile that made the marksman go week at the knees and grateful to be able to sink down into his set. Athos lifted his goblet and the other followed suit.  
“Now--whether he be spurious or not: a salute to Saint Valentinus!”  
“Saint Valentinus! And to love?” Aramis added, with a hopeful, under the lashes look.  
Athos thought fleetingly of this time a year ago: of an evening spent in some low bar, obliterating his memories in wine, then back to his lonely spartan room. Without any further hesitation he clinked his goblet against Aramis’s.  
“To love.”  
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	4. Chapter 4

Athos began to make inroads into his meal. The stew was one they frequently ordered either in the tavern or to bring home. As usual it was good but tasted just a little different. Aramis saw his partner's reaction and grinned.  
"I added some paprika and a few more herbs."  
"And it works," Athos remarked then applied himself to a few more mouthfuls.  
Aramis felt a minor twinge of satisfaction. It was good to see a man who'd often been indifferent to food was enjoying it, and also, although still trim and fit as ever had gained just a little more weight, which looked very good on him. Aramis knew that he was partly responsible for that. With the more regular lifestyle that came from living together, he'd been able to see that Athos got nourishing, tasty food and it daily gave him a small surge of joy to see Athos enjoying their shared meals.  
Athos took another another swallow of his wine and pronounced, "This is excellent." He reached for the bottle and examined the label. "And is not from our usual vintner."  
"I called on influnce of friends in high places. Treville used his pull to get one of the palace suppliers to part with a couple of bottles."  
"So...wine fit for royalty. Impressive."  
"I see no reason why a nobleman of France and loyal Captain of the King's Musketeers shouldn't occasionally enjoy a wine fit for their majesties." Aramis took a sip himself and met Athos's gaze with a playfully smouldering look. "You are, after all, ruler of my heart."  
"I thought we might keep the other bottle for your birhday," Aramis said, reaching for a piece of bread.  
"No, for yours," Athos replied firmly. "Which is first. Being King of the Silver Tongue must count for something," he teased.  
Aramis gave a mock courtly bow of his head and they ended up grinning at each other.  
"To enterprise!" Athos said as they clinked goblets again. As they ate and drank they chatted about the council meeting; that it had been decided to start negotiations with two potential Bourbon brides for the King of Sweden. He also touched on a few regimental matters he'd discussed with Treville, such as training schedules. Aramis mentioned a few things that had happened at the garrison, including a tale of a promising young recruit who was doing well in most areas but struggling just a little in hand-to-hand combat with the mighty Porthos and becoming a little dispirited. D'Artagnan, who liked the youngster and remembering some of his own training experiences, had privately been coaching him through a few moves,  
"This afternoon Hugo managed to trip Porthos for the first time. The look on our friend's face was priceless!"  
"I can imagine. Do you remember the first time D'Artagnan managed to throw Porthos? I don't know which of the two looked the more astonished. Then later in the tavern, Porthos gave our Pup such a hug it looked like it would break his ribs."  
Aramis smiled at the memory. "We really should stop calling him Pup. He's a long way past that now."  
"You're right." A look of pride crossed Athos's face. "And once he is wed, he may soon be having 'pups' of his own."  
"With a combination of D'Art and Constance, a generation of new Musketeers is likely." Aramis grinned. "I can't wait to be an uncle! Speaking of the inestimable Porthos, it appears that he brought Annette a bag of her favourite sweetmeats for tonight and decided to sample one but ended up eating them all! He was last seen rushing through the garrison gates to catch the market before it closed..."  
"Typical Porthos." Athos's mouth quirked into a smile and he put his goblet up for another toast. "To our brothers!"  
"Our brothers!" Aramis agreed and they drank to the other members of their garrison family, glad that each was with the person they wanted to be with tonight.  
"Speaking of sweet things, I managed to get some Gateau Battu today,It's by the range." The cake was a regional speciality of Picardy and a childhood favourite of Athos. Aramis had been able to locate a Parisian baker who made it. it was very sweet and rich in eggs; they had it as a treat every few weeks. More regular consumption had been vetoed by Athos as he had joked that he would need to replace the breechs on his new uniform before long.  
"Well, thank you." Athos's mouth lifted into his familiar half-smile. "Which reminds me, I also have a contribution to our dessert." With that he went over to his bag and brought out a box which he had carried home carefully. He folded back the lid and revealed a baked tart decorated with fruit. "This, I believe, is a Tarta de Santiago."  
Aramis's eyes widened in surprise. "It most certainly is! How did you manage to get your hands on this? When I first came to Paris I tried all over for someone who knew how to make it."  
"I have my sources." Athos employed his best enigmatic look which made Aramis laugh. As the marksman went ovér to the range, to collect dessert plates, a palate knife and a dish with the gateau Athos explained that he'd thought of it due to a visit to an inn near the Spanish border on their mission last year with Rochefort. Aramis had been delighted to find the dessert which he hadn't had in ages. He cut two portions of the tart and placed them on the plates. "No," Athos protested, "It's for you." "Athos, mon cher, you have got to try this! Why don't we have a bit each?" he suggested, also cutting two portions of the gateau.  
Athos waited until the marksman had sectioned off a piece of the tart with his fork and taken a bite. Aramis's eyes closed, then that beautiful warm grin lit up his face again. "Oh that is heavenly! The taste of my boyhood...."  
Athos was delighted with the reaction. At the inn, Aramis had explained his problems of tracking it down in Paris and thus it had proved. Athos had found a patissier willing to make it but not familiar with the recipe. He had ended approaching one of the Spanish ambassador's aides at court who owed him a favour. The man had been able to supply a French translation of a border area recipe book and it had been duly passed on to the baker. He took a forkful himself and it was indeed delicious: light and almondy and somehow tasting of Spanish sunshine.  
"Is it as it should be?"  
"It is, believe me!"  
"I hoped it would be. It was made from a recipe, not from experience. But by an excellent patissier."  
Aramis had taken a couple of bites of the gateau also and was starting to fill up. "Best save some for tomorrow," he said, laying down his fork. "As well we don't have this every day or I should grow as fat as an old matron! If you'll pardon the pun, thank you for my wonderfully sweet little present!"  
"Well, I do have another one or two small things you might like" Athos murmured, unaccountably feeling a shade nervous: like a young man presenting his first tokens of courtship, hoping they would gain approval.  
"And I have for you," Aramis, a man more used to giving and receiving love tokens said happily. They got to their feet together and cleared the plates and cutlery, carrying them over to the sink. "Let's do these later." Athos was glad to comply, not wanting to spoil the warm, happy atmosphere between them. As Aramis collected the wine bottle and goblets and carried them over to the small table in front of their couch Athos went to collect the packages in his bag. Aramis then went to get his own gifts from a nearby drawer. After a minute they were sitting side by side with the gifts beside them and two freshly charged glasses in hand.  
"If only I had known long ago that all I required to do to win a piece of your heart was to resort to regional confectionery!" he quipped, deadpan.  
"Well, my secret is out!" Aramis said cheerfully. His tone then grew much less flippant. "You have always owned a piece of my heart."  
"And you mine," Athos replied with some chagrin. "But I lacked the courage to tell you."  
"Well, you could say the same for me too. Perhaps it wasn't the right time. Maybe there were things we had to go through before to get to where we are today."  
"Maybe...." They took a drink, savouring the excellent wine. Thoughts of the past set in and Athos's eyes drifted over to the parcel on the chest on the other side of the room.  
"Open it now if you want," Aramis said levelly. "I don't mind."  
"We could get it over with, I suppose. But it isn't going anywhere." Athos was enjoying the warmth and intimacy after their very pleasant dinner. "At the moment I'd rather know what you think of these..." He gestured to the two wrapped packages by his side.  
"Likewise!" Aramis said, touching his own two gifts. "Who first?" They looked at each other and grinned. "All right, me! I've always loved watching gifts being opened," Aramis declared and held out the first of his gifts to Athos.  
The Captain put his glass down and took hold of the small oblong packet. "A book, I think..." he said as he passed it from hand to hand then began to carefully pull at the appropriately coloured red ribbon surrounding the dark crimson paper. Aramis had always had a gift for attractive presentation.  
It was indeed a book but what drew his eye was the lovely black leather bonding. The front and back were tooled with a beautifully rendered fleur-de-lys pattern. It continued onto the spine but about a third of the way down there was a very accurate rendering of the symbol on his new pauldron.  
"Aramis....?" he murmured as he opened the book. It was a copy of one of Plutarch's Parallel Lives: Alexander the Great and Caesar in Latin. "Oh my god, Aramis, you've replaced my Plutarch."  
"I know it can never make up for the loss of your father's gift but I have managed to get the same edition..."  
About a month ago Athos had undertaken a discrete mission for the King which involved a few days travel. Aramis and Porthos were away on another short mission when the job came up so he had taken D'Artagnan and another couple of experienced Musketeers. Knowing he'd be missing his normal bedroom companion, on impluse he had packed one of his favourite books. Much read and now a little battered, it had been a boyhood gift from his father, who'd seen his son's interest veering towards military history. The inn their party had stayed in was not the most salubrious but had picked for its out of the way location to aid secrecy. Having managed to secure a single room for himself, he had bought up his saddlebags, taking out a few items including the book, and after locking the door had headed down for dinner with D'Artagnan and the others and the rendezvous with their contact, who was said to have valuable intelligence on Spanish troop movements. The inn was busy and their contact had somewhat tardy. By the time their business was concluded and they went upstairs it was quite late. Athos entered the room wearily to find the book and other items gone. It seemed the lock had been picked along with those of a couple more rooms on the same floor. The alarm was raised and a search made but it appeared that at least twenty riders or waggons had left the inn's stables in the past two hours. The innkeeper had been exceedingly apologetic and swore he would report the matter to the local law inforcement agencies in the morning. They were on orders to get their information back to Paris urgently and didn't have the time to follow it up.  
Athos had had his money, weapons and documents on his person but some of the other guests had lost cash and jewelry. One of the party, a recent transfer into the regiment said in commiseration, "Rotten thing to happen, Captain, but at least they didn't get much more than a book..." D'Artagnan's eyes had blazed with indignation but Athos had thrown him a look; their companion wasn't to know what "just a book" had meant rather more. His younger friend was very aware of its significance. The Gascon had been deeply moved and honoured the year before when Athos had loaned it to him to read; he felt like Athos had really accepted him into their brotherhood.  
A few days later when duty permitted, D'Artagnan had returned to investigate further: Athos himself being busy with regimental business. It was to no avail. D'Artagnan suspected the landlord of collusion but couldn't prove it and they both knew the book had probably ended up sold on to second hand bookstore in a nearby town within a day of being taken. Porthos and Aramis had been equally upset to learn about the theft. Athos had been meaning to replace the volume but hadn't quite had the heart yet; his recent visits to book shops had been for a different purpose...  
"Aramis...." he said, looking deeply into his lover's eyes, "No, it cannot. This will mean as much but in a different way. It will be precious because it is from you--chosen with care and love. And the binding is very beauiful. Thank you, my darling one." He reach over and put his hand on the back of Aramis's neck and leant in till their lips met. The kiss was soft, but loving. But best of all was the flush of delight on Aramis's face as Athos set the book carefully to one side and the thought that a gift given in the right spirit yielded pleasure to both recipient and giver.  
"Your turn..." Athos placed his two packages before Aramis for his companion's perusal. One was a long, narrow shape, the other an oblong; most likely a book, Aramis thought, though a little smaller than his own gift to Athos. He veered towards the longer shaped piece, believing he knew what it was and as he tore open the top end, saw that it was indeed a leather sheath for a main gauche, His own had been badly scraped in when he'd been unseated while riding in a skirmish. He'd been using his spare sheath for some time. He'd been aggrieved to use the lose the first which he'd treated himself to on his first promotion and loved the fleur de lys symbol he'd had engraved on it.  
As he pulled the sheath out of its wrapping, he saw that it was good quality leather and had the fleur-de-lys, beautifully rendered, at the top. But he could see that there was more decoration further down the column. It was his initial--A--but it was the way that it had been styled that rendered him speechless. One slope of the A was done as a musket, with the handle curling outwards at the bottom. The other side of the slope was a sword, its hilt similarly placed; the two crossed over slight at the top. The crosspiece of the A had another symbol and Aramis had to peer slightly in the lamplight but soon made it out to be the staff of Asclepius: the healer's symbol with its serpent-coiled rod.  
It was every facet of his life as a Musketeer. He looked over at Athos, awed...amazed even.  
"We seem to have been keeping the leatherworkers and artisans of Paris busy."  
"Yes, it seems we have. So...do you approve?" he asked, with just a touch of hesitation as Aramis continued to gaze at the scabbard.  
"Approve?" Aramis gave his friend the widest, sweetest smile. "This is me...as a Musketeer. Perfect. This is going on my weapons belt tomorrow." He laid down the gift and grasped the other's hands between his own. "And I swear Athos...I swear that as long as I can still wield a sword, it will never come off." Then Aramis reached across for a kiss. It was brief but warm and deep.  
"Well...good!" Athos said when they broke apart. "I'm glad the draftsman's interpretation was better than mine. As an artist--suffice to say, I have always been better with a sword than a pencil. Fortunately he seemed to grasp my meaning, and I had a picture of the staff in a book to show him."  
Aramis grinned back at him. "I know just what you mean. I also resorted to a picture."  
"Ah. The book of regimental designs. And sent D'Artagnan to borrow it."  
"Well, it wasn't just an excuse. He was interested. And a little subterfuge is necessary on occasion!" Aramis's eyes twinkled with mischief as he settled back into his seat and picked up his wine. "There is another to open," he reminded Athos.  
So pleased had the other been at the reception of his gift, he had momentarily forgotten about the second of Aramis's offerings. He picked it up and started to undo the wrapping. Another oblong package but it felt soft under his hands. So--not another book.  
It was a pair of riding gloves of a good quality durable black leather and lined for warmth. The stitching was beautiful and he could see there was a design on the gauntlet, which he held up to the lamplight to get a better look. it was his initial, 'A', done with celtic style flourishs. What he also saw was that there was another letter A just behind the first. It was subtlely done, and seemed as though it had been added to the design to lend depth.  
"This...this is us, doesn't it?" he asked after a moment of tracing the raised stitching  
"Yes. It means you and me. Though the world will see only a good pair of customised gloves, fit for the Captain of the Musketeers."  
Athos tried one on for the fit, which was perfect. "And the Captain of the Musketeers..and Lieutenant Athos before him...has never had anything quite so fine." He spoke softly, his arm going round the other's shoulders. He thought of other gloves, quality gloves, taken for granted during his other life. "Or none given with such thought...and love...." They leaned together again, their lips meeting.  
"I wanted something significant," Aramis explained, "But that you could see every day."  
"Oh...in case I happened to forget you?" Athos said teasingly. Then it suddenly struck him. "The Song of Songs. 'Wear me as a seal upon your heart, a seal upon your arm.' Is that what you were thinking of?"  
Aramis's eyes glowed in the soft lamplight, full of joy at his lover's moment of epiphany. "Yes, that gave me the idea." His lips quirked. "And that you go through gloves even faster than Porthos--and needed a smart new pair for court and so forth!"  
"And these will be treasured!" Athos assured him, running his fingertip over the joint lettering once more then putting them carefully back in their wrapping. "Now, we have one more..."  
Floating on a small cloud of happiness, immensely pleased with the gift he'd already been given and the success of his own, Aramis picked up Athos's other offering. Tearing at the paper he could see it was a book and smiled inwardly at the way their choices had matched each other's. As he pulled it free from the wrapping he was immediately intrigued by the title which appeared to be in English, one of the languages within his repetoire.  
"Shakespeare's Sonnets," he read out. "An English dramatist and poet, if I remember rightly. Prominent in the reigns of Queen Elizabeth and King James, and dead some ten years or more. I know he was highly regarded by the English but I've never seen his works here in France."  
"Yes, like you I was aware of his prominence across the Channel but the state of relations between our nations this last decade has meant less traffic in a literary sense. But last year, if you remember I was ordered to head an escort for the English trade delegation for the final part of the journey to Paris. I got talking to one of the Charge's aides who had fluent French. We discussed literature and drama and he told me a little of Shakespeare, who he thought the finest poet of the century, not just for his linguistic skills but in his observation of human nature, and that his collected sonnets the best love verses he had ever read. It had me intrigued and I thought you might be too. There was a certain rumoured ambiguity as to the muse for the sonnets. I asked if he could help me track down a copy and in due course he wrote and put me in touch with an excellent importer in London. I've had a few verses translated, and in my judgement the English diplomat was right. Your English is far better than mine and I thought you might enjoy it."  
Aramis was already leafing through the small book, his eyes falling on words, on elegant phrasing. His written English was a little rusty but he could see that there was treasure here...  
"What is even more intriguing is that Shakespeare's muse for the major portion of the verses was rumoured to be a very attractive young nobleman..."  
"Well, having been inspired myself by a very attractive French nobleman, that makes it all the more interesting." Aramis's lips curved upwards as his eyes danced across the page. " ' Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising/ Happily I think of thee/ And then my state like lark at day arising/ From sullen earth sings hymns at Heaven's gate.../  
Athos closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the sound of Aramis's mellifluous voice to sink into his soul. Those words sounded just as good on his lover's lips as he'd imagined they would.  
"For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings--"  
Athos joined in the last line.  
"'That then I scorn to change my state with kings."  
Aramis closed the book. "I think we have something special here. And you and I are going to enjoy exploring it together. Mon cher, thank you for giving me something so ...wonderful and unique."  
"Rather like your good self," Athos said in his drily droll manner, making his partner chuckle.  
"Now who is Lord of the Silver Tongue?" Aramis's voice was almost a purr as he set the book carefully on the table and eased into Athos's open embrace. "Now, for a man who likes to play the cynic and pronounced St Valentinus to be "spurious"," he teased, "You have gone to a lot of trouble to provide special and appropriate gifts. So, Athos de la Fere," he said firmly, nipping at Athos's earlobe then caressed it with his tongue. "Don't you ever--ever-- tell me you don't know how to be romantic!"  
"Well, I am a little rusty, bu--"  
A finger was placed over his lips. "Now, what have I just told you?" Aramis then forestalled any further utterances by leaning over for a kiss which lasted for some time.  
"I was trying to tell you," Athos said after taking a moment to savour the flavours of claret, sweet almond, and Aramis, "That you were right in that tonight should be celebrated also that I'm very glad you like your gifts and how much I appreciate mine."  
"And I yours," Aramis was quick to add. "But the best gifts you give me are priceless. Like the way you're looking at me right now..."  
Athos's eyes crinkled at the corners and the soft emerald gaze seemed to grow more intense in the lamplight. Aramis remembered the days, not so long ago, when that gaze could be impenetrable. But now Athos's heart was in his eyes.  
"Well, don't expect that to stop anytime soon," the nobleman countered as he reached across to brush a dark curl away from Aramis's forehead. Aramis took his lover's hand and kissed the palm.  
"Now--loath though I am to remind you, we do have another package to open. Pehaps it's better we get it over with. And whatever it means, good news or otherwise, we'll face it together."  
Athos nodded, and after taking a stiffening sip of his wine, headed across the room to bring back the parcel into the light.  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soon I promise, but I am away for a few days and thought it better to post than not!


	5. Chapter 5

“Well, I can tell you one thing straight away,” Athos announced when he’d had a chance to read the address label properly. “It’s not in Anne’s hand.” They both let out an indrawn breath they’d barely realized they’d been holding. Athos’s brows furrowed as he bent his head more closely. “That’s not to say of course that she hasn’t disguised it or used an agent. But I think you’re right: it’s most likely a woman’s hand. And there’s something familiar about it…”  
There was a flash of memory surfacing from his earlier life. A sunny morning siting in the library at La Fere on a sunny morning, his younger self opening mail brought on a silver platter. A crisp white sheet of paper; a youthful more open style of penmanship. “Dear Olivier…”  
“I think I may know the author," and with a little look over to Aramis he started to cut the string with the main gauche he’d collected on his way across the room. It was the work of moments to get the oilcloth wrapping folded back and reveal the contents. A finely crafted pistol case, bearing his brother’s name. He felt his stomach lurch and his throat constrict as the memories flooded back: of Thomas, young, eager, jubilant, moving forward to take the case from their father. And later, as younger brother proudly showed the weapons to the older, the wide smile as he declared, “Just you wait, Olivier. One day I’m going to be as good with these as you are with your sword…”  
The outside world seemed to spin away for a moment and Aramis’s voice reached him as through a curtain. “Athos….Athos, my love, are you alright?”  
Athos managed to focus again and met his partner’s concerned eyes. One of Aramis’s hands was squeezing his.  
“Yes. I don’t know quite what I was expecting but it wasn’t this. This was sent by Catherine.”  
Aramis looked somewhat bewildered. “Catherine De Garoville, Thomas’s fiancée?”  
“Yes. This was an 18th birthday gift to Thomas from my father.” In his inner eye he could see Thomas on that happiest of days, then flashed forward to that of his death. “Before I closed up the house I asked Catherine if she wanted anything of his and she chose this. As you know I spent some time with her at Pinon, before the battle. After they became engaged Thomas taught her to shoot. She’d been using that skill to survive, partly by hunting.”  
“You’ve also told me how bitter she was towards Milady. Which is not so hard to understand. She felt she was robbed twice over: once of you and then of Thomas.”  
Athos let out a sigh. “Well, she was definitely robbed of Thomas. But the other situation wasn’t quite that straightforward. Although there’d been an longstanding understanding between our families, being neighbours and of similar standing, I had started to have doubts about marrying Catherine before I met Anne. I was in my late teens when my Father was taken seriously ill and I started to focus my thoughts on the role I would be inheriting. Part of that was taking a wife. But when I tried to imagine being married to Catherine; something wasn’t right. Whenever I envisaged her as my wife, all I could see was a friend. I wrestled with myself, tried to pass it off as nerves, but I knew in my heart there was something missing and marrying would do a great disservice for us both. When my mother came to tell me that a betrothal would help settle Papa’s mind in his last days, I had to tell her of my doubts. She tried hard to persuade me otherwise but with Papa’s illness to occupy her I don’t think she had the strength to fight it. She certainly didn’t want any antipathy between us and the De Garroviles and asked me not to say anything till after Papa died.  
“The expectation of living up to our parents plans for us can make such choices very difficult,” Aramis made sympathetically. “But there are times we just simply have to follow your own instincts. And if your doubts were that strong, it could have been a disaster for both of you.”  
Athos nodded.. “I must give Catherine her due, she visited often and was almost like a daughter in the support she gave my mother. And it was only a month after Father’s passing on a trip to the family lawyers in Rouen that I had my first chance encounter with Anne…”  
“And the rest as they say is history.”  
“I was sure within a very short time of meeting Anne that I wanted to marry her. It was only a matter of weeks before I brought her home to meet the family. The irony is that Thomas liked her from the start and urged me to follow my heart, regardless of what opposition I might face. And not long after our engagement, he came to me as head of the family to ask for permission to court Catherine. It seemed that he’d long carried a secret torch for her. To be honest I was relieved. It made my brother very happy and discharged our obligation to the de Garrovilles. And my Mama, who had almost motherly feelings towards Catherine wouldn’t have to lose that."  
Aramis leaned towards his love, squeezing Athos’s hand firmly in encouragement. As Athos had lowered his barriers over the past six months, he’d revealed a little about his youth and early days of his marriage. If it helped Athos to unburden, Aramis was telling him he was here to listen.  
“You’ve probably already gathered from what I’ve already said that I was in an Anne-induced haze from the moment we met, so I may not have been as sensitive towards Catherine’s feelings as I should have been. It seemed to me she was happy with Thomas’s proposal. Without the blinkers on, its obvious that Catherine, raised as she was, would have a natural antipathy towards someone like Anne who came from the lower classes and usurped the position of Comtesse De la Fere which she’d thought was hers. But in my rose-tinted worldview I thought everyone was as happy with the arrangements as I was. Even Mama thought Catherine could sometimes have too high an opinion of hers and could be too arch with the lower classes: something she hoped to train her out of once she was her daughter-in-law. But it was not to be.” His voice caught as he went on. “She left us less than six months after my marriage and just over a year after Papa’s death. Once Thomas and I were settled all her strength seemed to fade away.",  
Aramis leaned in closer for a kiss. “Hindsight is a wonderful thing, mon cher. I was so in love with Isobel I believed that once they got over the shock of her pregnancy our families would let us marry. So yes, I’ve lived in my own kind of fool’s paradise…”  
“Only to find yourself cut adrift from your family and everything you knew .” Athos returned the pressure of his lover’s hand. “Though in my case it was my choice to cut myself off from everything I knew.”  
“Expiation,” Aramis replied. “I know about that, and the people who get caught in the middle of it. My older brother, who had no choice when Father cast me out of the family. He had a young family of his own an couldn’t risk Father’s displeasure. And my sister who saw both sides and took the risk of staying in touch with me by letter.”  
"Catherine was one of those caught up in the crossfire. I felt that I owed her the truth about Anne escaping the hanging." "Yes, I can understand why. So we need to know why Catherine is contacting you.” Aramis gestured towards the gun case. Do you think there’s a note or anything?”  
“Let’s check.” Athos clicked the clasp and the case swung open. The two pistols were well cared for and looked almost as new as the day they’d been given to Thomas. There was a piece of folded up paper in the lid. He picked it up and placed it on the table in front of him.  
“The last time I saw Catherine I told her that as the King’s mistress, Anne was untouchable. And she said if I wouldn’t do something about it, she would.”  
Aramis’s eyes widened. “Well, the only thing we know for sure about Catherine is that she was last seen in the local market town a few days after we left."  
Treville and Bertrand the innkeeper had taken a liking to each other during the villagers’ training and had kept up a correspondence. Although Athos said he’d never return , the former Musketeer Captain thought there might be a point when his friend might need to know what was happening there. He had passed on the word about Catherine.  
“Remember, also a few days before we learned the truth about Rochefort, D’Artagnan thought he saw someone who looked like Catherine on the other side of the market but by the time he’d got through the crowds. Though as he said himself, it was only a glimpse and he couldn’t be totally sure.”  
“Are you thinking…?” Aramis ventured.  
“We could be jumping to conclusions.” Athos murmured. “Milady disappeared on the night she killed Rochefort and took the Cardinal’s treasure. We’ve assumed she fled the country—”  
“Open the note,” Aramis urged softly. “It’s maybe the only way we’ll know.”  
Athos broke the seal on the note and unfolded it. He scanned it then passed it to Aramis.  
There was a greeting—to Athos—but no signature. Just the words: “These have served their purpose. One day, perhaps you should take them back where they belong.”.  
They looked at each other in alarm but it was Aramis, in a hoarse whisper who voiced their thoughts,  
“Does this mean Catherine has killed Milady?”  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should just add that as this is an A/U I don't accept the s3 take on Aramis' background in the brothel etc and have my own back story for him.


	6. Chapter 6

“There’s an implication, certainly,” Athos said at last. His head felt fuzzy as he tried to process this new possibility. He’d spent five years trying to come to terms with her “death”, only to find two years ago that she wás very much alive and bent on revenge. Hed been through every sort of emotion. At one point he’d even come close to killing her himself. For a while it seems as though the pronouncement she’d made that day--there would be no peace for either while the other lived--was true. And yes, she’d come back into his life, as the King’s mistress. Thorn in his side didn’t begin to cover it.  
She was such an opportunist, such a su8irvivor, that the one thing he hadn’t factored into the equation was this.  
“Could Catherine actually have done that?” Aramis was also trying to get his head round the fact that Athos’s nemesis and the object of his own enmity might no longer be in the game. “It’s very cryptic, isn’t it?”  
“It is.” Athos sighed. “And perhaps it’s meant to be that way. It’s Catherine’s method of punishing me too. Leaving me wondering…”  
“A cruel thing,” Aramis agreed, “But not implausible. Resentment thwarted like that grows like weeds, choking everything in its path. Look what it did to Milady. “And I don’t suppose your sharing out of your land rights to the estate with the villagers improved your popularity with Catherine.”  
“I included her in it, trying to be fair to everyone.”  
“For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing. But you’ve spent more than enough time repenting for things that weren't your fault."  
“When Catherine returned to her father’s house, I thought she would be fine, after some time to grieve for Thomas. She was eligible and should be able to marry well. After all, she was still an heiress from an old and respected line.”  
“You couldn’t have known it would be otherwise,” Aramis said firmly, “So I will not see you carrying blame for something that wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t till a good six months after you left the district that began to circulate that her father’s gambling was getting out of control; late payments to creditors and that sort of thing. And after another year it had grown from him being a minor social embarrassment to a complete pariah.”  
“You know a lot about this,’ Athos commented, a tad puzzled.  
“When I was in Pinon I listened to anything and everything the villagers had to say about you.” Aramis smiled lovingly at his partner. “Because, my darling enigma, I wasn’t about to pass up a chance to learn about your life before you met me. I knew that being there would stir things up for you. I wanted to understand so i could help if needed." Athos lifted Aramis’s hands to his lips. “And it was on the way back that Porthold us about this place being up for rent, and suggested we share, remember?”  
“Like I could forget?” Aramis grinned. “Best favour he ever did for us!” He linked his fingers through Athos’s. “Well, there’s no doubt fate had dealt Catherine a rough hand. She’s obviously been strong and resourceful enough to survive. The question is—is she capable of murder?”  
“Which she would regard as an execution. The one I couldn’t see through to the end.” Athos shivered inwardly as the vision of Anne with the noose wrapped around her neck flashed into his mind. “The girl I knew in the old days, I would say not, But the woman I met in Pinon, bitter and hardened by what she’d endured—I think it’s possible. She did have a necklace of her mother’s. It was the only thing of value she had left but she could have sold it to fund the journey to Paris and live for a while. It wasn’t long after that that Milady fell out of favour with the King and left the palace, making she more accessible. There was a streak of stubbornness in the family: the old man certainly pursued his gambling obsession to his doom. Catherine had become a huntress. And driven by her hatred for Anne, was certainly single-minded enough to stake her prey.” He rubbed his temples. “Damn it, I’m sorry about this. Tonight was supposed to be about you and me.”  
“It still is.” Aramis gave Athos’s hand another reassuring squeeze. “Whatever it means, we’ll work it out and face it together. Let’s go over what we know. The package was sent from the South, so there’s a suggestion that if Catherine could afford to travel that far, she may have come across Milady the night she escaped with the Cardinal’s hoard.”  
“Which implies Catherine got her hands on it.”  
“So she might have killed and robbed Milady. Or robbed her and left her alive.”  
“Well, she’s hardly likely to admit to murder in writing,” Aramis commented. “Bitterness left to fester like that is a terrible thing. She held herself aloof from the villagers. Her life in the servants’ quarters must have been fairly solitary. Well, she has certainly fired a pot shot at you!”  
“And again==ironically—the last time she pointed a pistol towards me it was to save me from a flogging.”  
"She was a hell of a good shot," Aramis said. "I saw her take down several mean at Pinon. She has the nerve, and the skill--"  
“To take her revenge on Milady. One way or another.” Athos felt a small chill ran through him. “I have to acknowledge the possibility.”  
Aramis saw Aramis grow a little paler as the notion began to sink in properly. The marksman maintained his pressure through their linked hands.  
“How do you feel?”  
Athos still felt stunned, frozen almost. A montage of images were flashing through his mind and he felt as though he were watching them from a distance. Anne, the first time he met her. Being not just struck by her stunning beauty but the twinkle in her eyes as she laughed at her clumsiness for tripping and turning her ankle, needing his assistance… The look in her eyes the day he proposed…The passion that had blazed between them…Wondering together through the blue carpet of forget-me-nots, sneaking off to make love in some woodland grove…  
Then the day he came home and found his baby brother lying dead on the floor and Anne with the dagger in her hand, dripping with Thomas’s blood. Shock after shock, agony after agony. His beloved wife a liar and a criminal, now a murderess. Steeling himself to administer justice; unable at the last moment to watch it…Then abandoning La Fere….the beginning of the long dark eclipse of his soul which only started to lift a little when he joined the Musketeers, found something of a purpose. And Aramis and Porthos. Then fate bringing him back to La Fere…waking up, groggy from drink and a knock on the head, finding her alive, the flaming torch in her hand. Coldly beautiful, her hatred as powerful as her love had once been…..Other glimpses of her in his life…The day they’d outwitted her and the Cardinal and she had knelt before him, at his mercy. Then later, reappearing as the King’s mistress, strolling through the Louvre gardens on Louis’ arm: the contemptuous, triumphant looks she threw him. Another proud, disdainful sneer as she rejected the money he’d offered her when she was evicted from the palace.  
A different twinge of memory intruded itself. Aramis’s reaction to his offer of help, their relationship as lovers only weeks old, misinterpreting his motives; the blazing jealousy that Aramis had displayed. Its intensity both shocking and pleasing, and the night of passion that followed, binding them even closer than ever…  
A last image of Anne in their temporary alliance against Rochefort when they’d searched the First Minister’s office, and she’d made her attempt to seduce him again. It was too little, too late….because by then there was Aramis…  
His vision cleared and there was his lover, the gorgeous dark eyes gazing into his, full of concern and love. Regardless of what had happened to Milady, he must never lose sight of the reality in front of him. Aramis, his present and future.  
“Athos?”  
“Yes…what do I feel? You know, I’m not entirely sure,” he said quite truthfully. There was a kind of numbness there, as those there was some kind of veil between himself and the feelings he used to have for Anne, both positive and negative. The woman who’d taken him from the heights of heaven to the darkest depths of hell; who’d shaped and warped his destiny for the last decade might now be gone. It might hit him later him later but at present he felt like he was outside the situation, analysing it. “A little numb, perhaps.”  
“That’s not surprising.” Aramis gave his companion a slightly twisted smile. “This has come out of the blue and even if it’s just conjecture it’s still a lot to process.”  
“Perhaps in a way I shouldn’t be surprised by such news. As the saying goes: “Live by the sword—”  
“Sometimes means die by it.”  
“And God knows, with the trail of destruction she left in her wake, is it any wonder that someone she wronged would eventually catch up with her?”  
“Wasn’t it Porthos who said she had more lives than a cat?” Aramis grimaced. “They do indeed. Even if this cat was quick, clever and adaptable, no-one is indestructible.” Athos shook his head, as though trying to clear it. “Or maybe we are writing her obituary too early and she is out there in the world creating her own unique brand of mayhem….”  
Aramis nodded and with a last squeeze of Athos’s hand, let go so he could turn to pour them another glass of wine each and pass one to Athos.  
“Here, I think we both need this.”  
Athos took the wine gratefully and felt a little steadier after taking a deep drink.  
“Well, whatever the truth,” Aramis said after taking a bracing measure of his own wine then setting it down on the table, “What concerns me now is you and how this affects your peace of mind.  
Athos didn’t even try to deny that he was rattled and a little dazed by what they’d learned tonight.  
“You know I wouldn’t shed any tears for her,” Aramis added. “Neither would Porthos and D’Artagnan.”  
“And you have no reason to, considering that she has tried to have you all killed as well as the danger you were all in simply by being close to me.”  
“It’s not so much that we loath her. It’s that we love you and hate to see how she almost destroyed you. I think our brothers should know about this, don’t you?”  
Athos offered no hesitation. “Yes, tomorrow. Treville should also be told.”  
“What about Bretagne and the secret service? They may have the resources to actually investigate this properly.”  
“I need to think about the ramifications. And get Treville’s advice before I take it further.”  
“That sounds like a good plan,” Aramis said, his eyes still firmly fixed on Athos’s face; his concern was still very evident. “But you know we are all here for you, in any way you need us to be, until you can get to grips with this—”  
“Possibility?” said Athos with a fainter than usual version of his sardonic half-smile.  
“I’ll do anything I can. Anything to help you get through this. Whether you need to talk, take a few days leave, get angry—”  
“I know….” Athos said, voice thickening with emption.  
“She casts a long shadow.” Aramis’s tone was soft, empathic. “Always has. I’ve thought --well, once I got past that burst of not very rational jealousy I subjected you to last year—” his lips twisted into a very Aramisian self-mocking smile, “And I think the great pity of it is that if all that energy and intelligence had been directed towards the good, what a force she could have been in the world. But once she got in with the Cardinal--”  
“Truly an alliance with the Devil. There went any hope of redemption. She thought she was invincible and could use Richlieu’s campaign against the regiment as a platform for revenge.”  
“I’ve seen her hurt you so much.” Aramis’s voice quivered slightly and there a suspicious glimmer of moisture in his eyes. “I love you and I don’t want to see her hurting you again. I understand if there’s a part of you that needs to grieve for her. I really do, even if it’s just for the memory of the girl you married. She was after all the love of your life.”  
Athos stared at his lover for a moment. Then he shook his head vehemently. “Aramis, you couldn’t be more wrong.” His voice grew richer and deeper as he became more impassioned. “Yes, I did love her passionately and she has been a massive part of my life. But I paid a huge price for those few brief years of happiness. She took away the last member of my blood family. She robbed me of sense of honour, my self-esteem. I didn’t really care very much if I lived or died until we all met and formed our brotherhood.” He cupped Aramis’s face in his hands. “Tonight was bout trying to make you understand what you’ve done for me the past six months.” He leaned in and claimed his companion's mouth with a deep kiss, tongue curling around Aramis’s: a tender yet ardent exploration. There was a little moan of pleasure from Aramis who responded eagerly, his hands coming behind Athos’s neck, drawing him closer. His tongue wound round that of his lover, prolonging the sinuous dance. They broke apart, breathing hard.  
“You’ve been trying so hard to help and understand, I think you’ve lost sight of the truth.” Athos eyes glittered, green and mesmerising as he declared, “Aramis, the love of my life is YOU!”  
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	7. Chapter 7

Aramis’s dark eyes looked back into his lover’s and this time there was definitely a glisten of tears. The most beautiful face he’d ever seen on any man, Athos thought as he’d done many times before.  
“And I swear….Madre de Dios…I have never known anything like this. I love you so much that sometimes, it hurts…There are no words—”  
The air between them crackled with emotion and erotic heat, and an electric, primal bolt of lust ran through them. Their lips came together with bruising force and their arms wrapped more tightly around each other, unable to get enough of deep burning kisses and close-pressed bodies. They could feel the fierce desire surging through them with the power of a spring tide, making them both hard very quickly. Athos’s hand snaked down to Aramis’s groin and he fondled the erection he could feel pulsing beneath his fingers. In response to the caresses, Aramis emitted a sound somewhere between a yelp and a groan; it made the blood pound in Athos’s temples as he pulled the other’s shirt free of his breeches and began to undo the fastenings.  
Aramis’s task was slightly easier, as Athos had pulled his shirt loose earlier to aid Aramis in giving him the neck rub. He urgently got to work unbuttoning breeches and then the fastenings of braies. This let the burgeoning phallus spring free and Aramis’s fingers wrapped around it, stroking and making it harder still.  
Athos let out a gasp which changed into a growl. “Aramis, love…I need you…” he murmured between fevered kisses. “Inside me, owning me…like you did that first night…”  
“Oh God…yes!” Aramis exclaimed, and his cock pulsed harder.  
Athos managed to say between hot, wet kisses that stole his breath away. “Upstairs…?”  
“I don’t think…I can last that long!” Aramis panted laughingly. “Don’t go anywhere!” he commanded Athos, tearing himself away and making for the table where he’d earlier given Athos his neck rub.  
Divining his lover’s purpose, Athos let out a sharp bark of amusement. It only seemed like seconds before Aramis was back with the little phial of oil he’d used for the massage. He’d also unfastened his braies and pushed them down and out of the way; the sight of Aramis’s vigorous erection both pleasing and arousing.  
Aramis quickly uncorked the stopper on the phial and spilled some of the liquid into his palm. Athos stood up on shaky feet and made way for Aramis to sit on the couch again. Aramis spread his legs apart as he stoppered the cork and put it to one side.  
Their fevered gazes met.  
Aramis’s quick question—“Down on me?”  
And Athos’s answer--”Hell, yes. Fuck me!”  
Athos made to sit, legs apart, almost on Aramis’s lap. He leant in for a kiss, raising his arse so Aramis’s fingers could trace his anal ring, then push up inside him: urgently but with that characteristic tenderness, taking a moment to massage his spot. Athos moaned deep in his throat, with the pleasure of it.  
Their eyes met again. Aramis held out his palm towards Athos who accepted it, spreading the lube on his own hand. He curved his fingers around Aramis’s cock, bringing it to full throbbing tumescence, making it more of a shared act. They moved together with the wordless synchronicity of lovers who’d been together for over six months, but also the trust and understanding that came from being friends and brothers for much longer, knowing there’d be no time for the usual teasing and foreplay. The need in them was blazing too brightly and fiercely; it needed to be addressed with alacrity. Athos raised his hips, moving until he was astride the tip of the other’s erection, then slid down on it in one smooth motion. None of the usual playful in and out, yet it was still deeply satisfying to them both. Athos’s warm flesh squeezing and caressing Aramis’s phallus. For Athos, the greatly pleasurable and arousing reality of his lover within him, joining their bodies. They paused for a moment, their gazes locked tightly, then Aramis’s hands went to Athos’s buttocks and pulled him more closely again him. Then he began to thrust upwards. On the next stroke Athos bore down on his lover and they began to move together: bound by their passion and their desire for each other, by all the emotion stirred by the intrusion of Milady and Catherine into their lives tonight. They were also equal in their need to express love; give and take pleasure.  
The flame consuming them burned too hotly and brightly to last for long. Aramis felt the rush building in his balls. The climax was stoked by Athos’s body surging in unison above his, the tight channel clenching around his rampant cock and the sight of his partner’s face, reflecting a need and passion equal to his own.  
“Athos….love….can’t hold it. Going…to come…”  
“Then come!” Athos urged: a guttural cry. Riding the upward thrusts, bearing down with his own, as the movements grew faster and more urgent. Then came the moment when Aramis peaked and his body shuddered. Athos felt his lover’s come bathing his channel and he clenched his anal muscles, trying to prolong Aramis’s pleasure and hold him inside. At the same time he was as entranced as ever by the exalted look on Aramis’s face when he came…  
“Oh GodIlove you…” Aramis’s words ran into each other as his body gave its last spasm.  
“And I you…” Athos’s voice was an erotic, velvet growl. His own erection was throbbing almost painfully hard as he tried to ride every last thrust with Aramis.  
The other was very aware of his brother’s need to spend. “Let me,” he said, easing himself out of Athos’s body, then, still holding onto Athos’s buttocks to help support him, slid onto his knees before him. His mouth closed over his lover’s straining erection, taking in the head, licking and sucking. Athos was already very close and he always loved the feel of Aramis’s skilled mouth on him. His fingers combed through Aramis’s hair as the other’s ministrations quickly took him over the precipice and he came. His climax seemed to go on forever as his hips bucked and his seed spilled into Aramis’s eager mouth until at last he shuddered to a stop.  
Aramis climbed shakily to his feet and with limbs trembling they put their arms round each other for support and sank down together onto the couch.  
Bodies glowing with a sheen of sweat, faces flushed, they scanned each other’s faces in a kind of stupefied awe as their breathing slowly calmed.  
Athos’s lips curved upward into a smile. “That was—”  
“Amazing?” Aramjs suggested, returning the grin.  
Athos nodded. ”And made words redundant?” He leaned in to claim that sexy mouth: revelling in the taste of his own come, and the ever delectable taste of Aramis.  
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End file.
